A different game
by Carolien90
Summary: John meets a primary school friend of Sherlock. This makes him realizes Moriarty is still out there. John will not sit by and do nothing. This forces Sherlock to start doing something: either tell the truth and come back or keep John busy finding someone that does not existed. Rated M to be save. Set post-Reichenbach.


_Autor's note: Sorry, I am not a native speaker and also very dyslectic. I don't own Sherlock Holmes. And oh, please picture Matt Smith when you are thinking of Trevor Scott : -) _

**Chapter 1: Trevor Scott**

16th of June 2013

John hated this day. And he knew he would always hate it until the day he'd die. Sherlock had been dead for two years now. He didn't really understand why, but he still went to visit Sherlock grave, as if he was hoping to get an answer on why or perhaps some other reason… he did not know. After he had come back from the graveyard John walked into the café to see Mrs Hudson.

'Hello John!' She hugged him. 'How are you?' Mrs H. knew where he had been and a single look was enough for us the understand one another. We no longer needed endless conversations about how much we hated and missed Sherlock. 'John, see that gentleman in the corner? He has been asking about you. But I told him you would probably come back soon.' John turned to look at the man and for instant moment he thought he saw Sherlock. The man did not look like him or anything, not really. This man did not have curls and also his face was very different, but there was something about his posture that made him look like Sherlock. The man was typing on a computer but the oddest thing was the black dog that was lying at his feet. Since when was a dog allowed in a café? Then John saw that it was a service dog. He walked over to meet the man. John thought he might be a journalist, he had had two phone calls from journalists just like last year. Clearly Sherlock's fame had not yet faded. The man turned around when he heard John approaching form behind. 'Hello, dr. Watson. I am dr. Trevor Scott. I used to be a friend of Sherlock Holmes.' John froze. The last man who said that had managed to make Sherlock jump to his death. 'Sorry, but I do not believe you. If you were a friend of his then why didn't you come to his funeral? Why didn't he ever mention you?' The man nervously twitched his hands and looked everywhere but John's face. 'We were friends when we were in primary school, after the death of my father my family and I moved to Switzerland and Sherlock moved to London. I haven't been to England ever since. I am here for work now and I heard rumours about a private detective called Sherlock Holmes and I thought Sherlock might be able to help me withfinding my little brother. But then I came across your blog and… well… I wanted to know what happened.' The hands of the man kept twisting and turning. And he kept glancing at the different people in the room. John slowly sat down opposite of him. 'What are you typing? I want to know you are not a journalist. I mean it is… today is exactly two years ago since…'

'I know,' dr. Scott said. Then he turned his computer. He was emailing someone about something really complicated which John could not follow. But he was starting to actually believe the man. 'Well, dr. Scott, if you are truly a friend of Sherlock please tell me more about your friendship.' John decided he would hear the man out and then text Mycroft to check if he was speaking the truth. He surely was strange enough to be a friend of Sherlock. 'Please call me Trevor, this is Newton, by the way,' he said indicating the dog which was now sniffing at John enthusiastically. It was a middle-sized dog, with curly black hair and features slightly resembling those of a poodle.

'Like I said I was in primary school with Sherlock and when we were ten, we became friends. Whenever my mother brought me to school Sherlock would wait for us because I had a dog then. Not a service dog like Newton, but a Jack Russell called Franky. Sherlock liked our dog but one day Franky got scared of some screaming child and bit Sherlock in his ankles. He had to go to the hospital and get a few stiches. I tried to make up for what our dog had done by helping Sherlock and that is how we became friends, and then of course there was the Carl Powers case. Sherlock wanted my help in proving the boy had been murdered, we knew Carl, only a little though. He was at the same school as my brother and sometimes our teachers wanted us to mix with the regular children, that was always hell for us, but fun for them. Luckily Sherlock was very good at getting away from the kids making fun of us'

'Regular children?'

'Yes, you know, dr. Watson, the kids going to a normal school.'

'Call me, John, please. And do you mean you weren't in a normal school?'

'Yes, Sherlock never told you? We were in a school specially for autistic children. That is why I got Newton. I probably would have gone crazy in a city like London without him. But with Sherlock the dog treatment did not work, he was far more autistic then me.' John stared at Trevor. He had suspected Sherlock's autism for a while, but hearing it stated like this made it different. 'Sherlock never told you he was autistic, did he?'

'No, and well, it doesn't matter of course, I only wonder why he never told me,' John said, in fact he wondered how many times Sherlock was still going to hurt him by proving he hadn't trusted him. 'He was ashamed probably.' Trevor said. 'I have been ashamed, because there is something wrong with you and sometimes you do strange things, which makes people think you are insane. Or you are afraid to scare potential friends away. And everybody needs friends.' John had to swallow hard a couple of times after Trevor had said that. Had Sherlock really been as lonely as he he himself had been before they had met? Trevor looked him in the eye for the first time since he had showed up in the café. And John knew he did not really need Mycrofts check-up anymore. He believed Trevor. 'Can you tell me more about your friendship with Sherlock?' Trevor hesitated, as if he did not know what to tell. 'Yes, well, when you are autistic friendships can be very different. We enjoy the company of people we know well. But we don't have the need for endless conversation or anything, so most of the time we just sat together.' John smiled. Sherlock had always liked it when John was near even on his none talking days. He had just liked it when John was there.

'Have you ever been to Sherlock's home? What was his family like? You see, I don't know anything about Sherlock's childhood,' John said, he noticed that Trevor found it difficult to tell something of his own accord so John asked questions, but every time someone walked into or out of the shop, Trevor turned to look and got distracted. 'Yes, I have been to his place a couple of times. But he did not really like it at home. His parents divorced when he was like four and he never saw his father again. He said his mother blamed him somehow for the divorce so she ignored Sherlock after that happened Luckily he had his brother, Mycroft, but he was very busy studying at that time. I took Sherlock home with me a couple of times and then we would have great fun. Pretending that we were pirates.' John smiled sadly, poor Sherlock having no one but Mycroft to rely on. 'Did you have a nice family?' John asked.

'Yes, well, my parents… they did their best, but my mum and dad fought a lot over me and my brother. My dad kept saying that Jim, that is my brother, was autistic too, but mum refused to have him tested. One weekend Sherlock was staying with me and we heard my parents fight and the fight ended with my dad screaming that he did not believe Jim was his. We didn't hear the reply. I asked Sherlock whether he thought Jim was my full brother or just a half-brother. Sherlock said he didn't know. Jim and I differed, but not so much. Anyway, the next morning my father was lying dead on the sofa. He'd had an heart attack, the doctor said. But Sherlock, of course, did not believe it. He tried to make a point but the adults ignored him, saying he was in shock and mentally disabled. Which he wasn't.'

'Of course he wasn't, he was brilliant,' John said, he felt tears sting his eyes.

'Shortly after my father's death I moved with my mother and brother to Switzerland. I have stayed there since.'

'You said that you wanted Sherlock's help to find your brother. What happened?'

'I don't know. But Jim was an absolutely horrible teenager. And when he turned sixteen he ran away. Haven't seen or heard anything from him since, I also haven't been looking, but last January, mother got sick, cancer. She wanted to see Jim one more time. I haven't found him. I asked her about Jim and whether he was a full-brother of mine. She said she didn't know for sure nor did she know who Jim's father was, if he wasn't my full brother. She had earned some extra money at the time she got pregnant with Jim, by entertaining men, apparently. My mother died in March but I keep thinking that Jim doesn't know and since I had to come to England anyway I thought Sherlock might be able to help…'

'I am really sorry, Trevor,' John said.

'Perhaps, you could still help me, dr... John.'

'I can't do what Sherlock did.'

'No, but I have read your blog and googled a little… you see I am a scientist, but I can work with computers quite well… so I have an idea of where Jim might be. Well who…'

'Who? You mean "Who Jim might be?"' John asked confused.

'Actually I am sure of it… Unless you want to tell me Richard Brook is real?'

'Jim Moriarty is your brother?' John asked in disbelieve, he felt like someone had slapped him in the face, he felt numb.

'Yes. Professor Moriarty was one of the men my mother entertained. Jim has probably gone in search of his biological father and then changed his name.' John thought about those words for a moment and then the truth dawned on him. 'And you still believe Sherlock? And not Richard Brook?'

'I know what Sherlock can do. I know what Jim can do. I know Jim is not named Richard. And I know he murdered my father. Sherlock said that my father was killed. He said my dad had strange marks over his heart. The doctor said he had probably scratched himself, but Sherlock said someone had injected air into his bloodstream and looking back Jim could have easily done that. So the only question that remains is this: where is Jim?'

'I have no idea,' John did not know what else to say.

'No, neither do I. But if you would have been Jim, pretending to be an actor called Richard Brook. What would you have done directly after Sherlock's death?' John thought about that question for a while. This man was like Sherlock, incredibly smart and saw things that other people didn't. 'I would have showed up on the telly, explaining how tragically Sherlock was and that I feel sorry and all the other stuff. But that he was dangerous and delusional.'

'Exactly, but Jim disappeared. So again where is Jim Moriarty?' John could not help it. He smiled. He felt like he was being dragged back on the battle field. Back into the war he had missed for so long. And this time he was going to make the first move.

* * *

'Virgin, wake up! The game is on!'


End file.
